


the hardest part is saying goodbye

by bruisedbutlovely



Series: bittersweet words // oneshots [7]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bittersweet, Ghosts, Goodbyes, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Memories, Moving On, Swearing, The Disc Saga, The story is coming to an end, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, l'manberg, letting go, the finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisedbutlovely/pseuds/bruisedbutlovely
Summary: Tommy rebuilt the caravan.Tommy had a day to live.Tommy saw his brother again.(in the ruins of l’manburg, the wilbur soot before it all appears once again)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: bittersweet words // oneshots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160981
Comments: 14
Kudos: 159





	the hardest part is saying goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> what's up beautiful people, i made myself cry again
> 
> tomorrow, the disc saga is coming to its conclusion. i don't have predictions or really any idea how it's gonna go but it's happening. and I know that this whole story of the dream smp is kind of coming to its end (the l'manburg/disc part at least) but i'll still be writing. russian roulette is coming to an end, the lullaby is getting there but my next big project, well, i think you're gonna like it.
> 
> it feels like the end but it isn't.

Seven by five. 

That’s how big the inside of the caravan was. 

It wasn’t that anymore, a caravan at least. Right now, it was simply a wooden platform hidden behind Tommy’s house, in a cave that was dug out long ago. The caravan was gone, blown to pieces simply seconds before its owner was killed by his own father. 

Lots of things were gone, destroyed, stolen, put just out of reach. Sometimes, those things come back, as a sacrifice for something even remotely close to peace and sometimes, they stay out of reach forever; no matter how close they seem, they’re just out of reach because things disappear and things stay lost. 

Maybe they weren't gone, taken away forever and maybe just lost, forever wandering and searching for home. But what if home was gone too? Where do the lost return when there is nowhere to return to? 

They return to the place that reminded them of home. 

The drug caravan smelt like the burning nether and the soothing ocean at the same time. It was hot, no matter if it was winter or not, and one could only get used to the heat. It was like a ticking time bomb, always threatening to go off with the wrong ingredient, the wrong temperature, the wrong potion made. One mistake and it was all gone. 

Potion making was delicate, a craftsmen ship that many could try but never truly master. It took away hours of one’s day, watching the potion brew and collecting ingredients from places that simply took away hearts, took away lives that were supposed to go on for far longer. It took the recipes of old, passed down through villager’s hands to others and sometimes, the ink had faded, leaving only a skeleton behind. It took patience, something Tommy never had. 

But Tommy would sit there on the counter of the caravan, watching his brother brew potions like it was only second nature. He would move around the caravan in a practiced dance that no one could imitate, seemingly always knowing just when to pull a potion out of the stand. He would hum while he worked, dropping in ingredients when needed and flipping through pages of a book of potions where the title has long disappeared. And every so often, he would try and show Tommy how to make them himself.

Now, Tommy looked through his chest, trying to remember if it was a glistering melon or ghast tear that gave him a potion of healing. 

His brother would know. He would laugh, telling Tommy exactly what ingredient was needed before ruffling his hair like he always did, leaving behind blaze powder that made Tommy’s hair glow a bit in the right light. He would know but Tommy didn’t.

Squeezing his eyes closed tightly, he gripped the edge of the chest, trying to remember just how the potion was made, just what ingredients went in, just how the song that he hummed went. But he couldn’t figure out how the potion went and he couldn’t recall what ingredientes it had and he couldn’t remember how the song went. 

He just wanted to know how the song went.

Giving up, Tommy grabbed both the melon and the tear, swallowing roughly and trying to forget the lingering lyrics, the confusing notes and the lost melody.

Two bottles full of water rested in between his fingers just like how his brother used to. The melon and tear sat in his other hand and slowly, carefully, he made his way down the stairs to the caravan, remade.

No one had the courage or even the bravado to remake the caravan after it was lost in the second explosion of three. They picked up the broken pieces, staring at them like it would bring it all back but of course, the pieces sat there and did nothing. Slowly, they would put them back down again, trying to ignore the empty space where the caravan once stood and once housed their leader.

L’Manburg was quiet without him. The symphony was gone.

Tommy glanced at the crossbow that leaned innocently against the stone wall just off of the platform. He knew what it said, knew whose it was. But he can’t bring himself to grab it, to fire it.

Because to acknowledge that this was his Chekov’s gun was to acknowledge that the story was ending. 

Tommy didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want to go out there tomorrow, armed only with what he had and standing alone with Tubbo. He didn’t want to face Dream like this, like how he did months ago, knowing that this time it was permanent. He didn’t want to take his final life and put it one the line because when that was gone, everything was gone. 

Everything was lost and there was no returning home. 

His brother never returned home. 

His brother was lost forever. 

His brother was right there. 

The bottles of water slipped from Tommy’s grip and shattered on the stones but he barely noticed. The glistering melon and ghast tear tumbled out of his hand and landed next to him but he barely noticed because there he was, standing in front of a brewing stand like he was there all along. 

And for a second, it was just like old times. Dinner would be soon but Tommy’s brother would be nowhere to be found. Tommy would be sent out for he was the one to know the L’Manburg president the best and without fail, he would find the elder in the caravan, swaying with a beat only he can hear. 

But this wasn’t old times for L’Manburg was rubble and Tommy’s brother was dead. 

But he stood there, dressed in a white shirt and orange jacket. But he stood there, looking younger than the man that died in the button room. But he stood there with the same smile he had when he made potions, when he played guitar, when he looked over his country. 

The ghost, the relic, the phantom, the long forgotten memory turned and smiled at Tommy. 

“Hey, Toms.”

Tommy could hear the symphony. 

“Wilbur?”

The ghost only grinned, turning back to the brewing stand. “You remembered what I taught you.”

  
  
“How could I forget?” Tommy laughed because if he didn’t, he knew he was going to cry. “I almost blew up the caravan enough times to remember a strength potion.”

Wilbur hummed. “You almost leveled the server when you tried to make a harming potion.”

  
  
“How was I supposed to know that the spider eye was supposed to be fermented?”

  
  
“I told you it was a fermented spider eye. You didn’t listen.”

“Well, sue me,” Tommy could only watch as Wilbur gently powered gunpowder into the potion. “What are you doing?”   


  
“Making it a splash potion. You won’t have the time to manually drink a potion while you fight Dream.”

  
  
“You know about that, huh?”

  
  
Wilbur set down the jar of gunpowder. “Of course I do. Why do you think I’m here?”

  
  
“But you’re dead,” Tommy mumbled and then he blinked once, twice. Wilbur was still there.

“I am,” Wilbur grabbed the jar lid and tied it back on tight. “Three lives and you’re out.”

“So, how are you here?” Tommy stepped up onto the platform and his volume started to creep up. “How are you back? You’re dead, Wilbur, I watched you die. And now you’re fucking here and acting calm and shit. What is going on?”

  
  
Wilbur finally turned to face Tommy properly and his grin finally slipped from his face.

“Everything is ending tomorrow, Tommy, and you will either win, gaining the discs back once and for all or you will lose, losing the discs forever and losing your final life. The story is coming to an end.”

  
  
“But what if I don’t want it to end?”

  
  
“Everything comes to an end, Tommy. It’s the way of life.”

People live and people die. Empires rise and empires fall. The sun rises and the sun sets. 

  
  
“I don’t care about the stupid way of life,” Tommy was yelling now. “It’s shit and all it does is take everything away from me. It took my discs, it took L’Manburg, it took you, Wil! Life has done nothing but screw me over and take everything I care about!”

“It’s what it does,” Wilbur stared down at him sadly. “Life takes and takes and takes and even when you feel like you have nothing, it still takes. We cannot stop that like we can’t stop the tide of the sea.”

  
  
“Well, I fucking wish we could,” Tommy couldn’t look at Wilbur. “Because you would still be alive and everything would be fine.”

“You’re scared, Tommy.”

There was a beat of silence.

“What if I don’t make it, Wilby? What if this is the end?”

_ blocks _

  
  
“Then it’s the end. We have to accept it. ”

  
  


_ chirp _   
  


  
“I don’t want to accept it.”

  
_ far _

  
  


“No one does. But it’s inevitable.”

  
  


_ wait _

  
  


“Is is scary?”

  
  


_ pigstep _

  
  


“I don’t think so. It is simply the end of the story.    
  


_ stal _

  
  


“What happens after?”

  
  


_ cat _

  
  


“A new story begins.”

  
  


Tommy blinked and Wilbur was gone, leaving the feeling of blaze powder in Tommy’s hair. The potion of strength finished and when Tommy grabbed it, the magic trapped inside swirled and floated around the bottle, the tell of a splash potion. He could feel the gunpowder residue on the glass. 

He found himself leaving the room, the makeshift caravan behind. The sun was warm against his face as he walked away from his home and walked down the prime path. His feet took him down a familiar way towards a country that used to reach the skies, that used to be a haven, that used to be his home. 

Sitting down on the edge of the crater, Tommy looked over L’Manburg for what could have been the final time. 

  
  


The end is coming. 

It is time for the grand finale. 

  
  


_ mellohi _

  
  



End file.
